Cacophony
by PennyOfTheWild
Summary: [All together now.] Oneshot collection. WIP, open to requests.
1. I

**A/N**: Technically, I can't label these 'drabbles' because I've never been good with word limits. However, I do intend to keep them under 500 words. I'm open to requests, so if there's a character/pairing/scenario you'd like to see go ahead and leave me a prompt in a review. Feedback, of any sort, is always appreciated. These first couple dabbles were written ages ago. I apologize.

* * *

**I. Conversation**

"You haven't spoken for forty years." Ikkaku's exaggerating, and both he and Renji know it. They have spoken, but their conversations – if they can be called conversations at all – usually go something like this: "Hello, Renji," – because, of course, he would never initiate a casual conversation – it's not his place – and then, there is always a pause, a space between heartbeats, while she waits for his answer.

"Good morning (or afternoon, or evening) Lady Kuchiki."

At this point a slow, sad smile always crosses Rukia's face, and she casts her eyes down. In anyone else this gesture could be interpreted in a number of ways, but Renji knows she does it to hide the hurt in her eyes.

She could ask him to call her Rukia but she doesn't, and he could ask her not to stop him on byways and say hello but he doesn't. It's a mockery of conversation, this awkward exchange of greetings, but it's better than ignoring her – or worse, having her ignore him.

Indifference is numb – but pain is a fresh reminder that she is – was – real.

* * *

**Dedication: Sa Rart**


	2. II

**A/N:** MatsuMama and Philyra write these two beautifully.

* * *

**II. Growth**

Shunsui Kyoraku pauses outside his father's room, raising a hand and rapping smartly on the door. A moment later, a gruff voice calls, "Come in!" and Shunsui enters and walks – no, strides – down the long aisle up to the head of Clan Kyoraku's desk, head held high. He grins in response to the stupefied look that crosses his elder brother's face at the sight of him, Shunsui, proud and unafraid.

"I came to tell you, Father," Shunsui says, and a part of him marvels at how calm and self-assured he sounds, "I will be leaving for my final year at the Academy tomorrow. Commander Yamamoto has offered me a place in his Gotei Thirteen after I graduate at the end of the year. I will not be coming back." Nor do I want to, he adds mentally, and sweeps a bow.

He can't help but wonder if the feeling of powerlessness will come up anytime soon – can't help but wait for the paralysis that robs him of mobility and speech. But nothing happens – his brother is still struck dumb, and, for the first time in a long while, Shunsui's father is looking at him. Shunsui smiles, and turns – takes a step forward – and then he is falling –

-and suddenly his fall is cut off, and he is sitting up in his narrow bed at the Academy. He is not Shunsui Kyoraku, final year student and soul reaper extraordinaire, but Shunsui Kyoraku, despised second son and underground slayer of Hollows.

But. Shunsui's gaze travels to the occupant of the other bed in the room – a pale, slender, white-haired boy who has proven, time and time again, that courage and determination can win the most unlikely of battles.

Shunsui smiles, his rapid heartbeat slowing, returning to a normal pace. _Some day._

* * *

**Dedication: Sa Rart**


	3. III

**III. Barefaced**

"I don't hate you," Renji informs the man he calls master. "For these last forty years you've given my life a purpose."

Gray eyes meet brown ones, an almost imperceptible widening the only sign of surprise the older Shinigami betrays. The lieutenant smiles. "I did say," he continues, "I did tell you I've spent every moment since that day in the Academy training in the hope that one day, I'd surpass you."

"You will have to remind me," his captain says quietly, "I don't quite understand which day at the Academy you are referring to."

It's funny, Renji supposes, how different events hold different significances for the people they affect. He wonders if his master even noticed his presence that day. "The day you first offered to adopt Rukia." Renji keeps his voice deliberately casual; for his part, the captain does not bat an eyelash at the mention of his sister's name without so much as an honorific. Renji sighs inwardly; he'd been hoping for a reaction.

It is a long while before his master answers. In his mind's eye, the captain recalls the fiery, willful student who'd barged in on his 'meeting' that day. He recalls feeling envious of the younger man's _freedom _and _energy_ – remembers how looking at Abarai Renji – then an unnamed noneity – made the responsibility of the Kuchiki family's name increase tenfold. He'd felt as though the _ginpaku kazahana no uzuginu _around his neck had tightened – cutting off his breath – and the weight of the _kenseikan_ had suddenly doubled. That same boy – but he is a boy no longer, and the captain will admit this to himself, if not to anyone else – sits in front of him now, discipline keeping his spine straight and eyes steady and restless energy ruthlessly hemmed in (but it hums beneath the surface, ready to flare at a moment's notice). He feels a strange – but not unpleasant – glow in the region of his heart and realizes with a start that it is pride. He is _proud_ of this Rukongai street rat beneath whose unrefined exterior burns a fierce nobility not unlike his own, that has brought him this far and will take him further still.

He wonders if Renji knows he is proud of him.

"Captain?" The silence has drawn out for so long Renji has begun wondering if the other man has fallen asleep. At the sound of his voice, the captain turns his head towards the lieutenant. Once again, gray eyes meet brown ones, and this time, it is Byakuya Kuchiki who smiles, to the astonishment of his lieutenant.

"Well, Renji," says the man Renji calls master, "I am glad."

(_And despite everything, Renji smiles back._)

(_If on one fine day, Ichigo Kurosaki had, for once, not interrupted_.)

* * *

**Dedication: Sa Rart**


	4. IV

**IV. Denial**

"I have not allied myself with the soul reapers!" He's said it so many times – surely everyone believes him? He is a Quincy, and, as he keeps telling and being told, Shinigami _are_ his mortal enemies. And yet – Uryuu can't imagine rushing into battle with the knowledge that Ichigo won't show up to back him up, or that Rukia might end up being on the opposite side, or that Urahara-san won't show up (late, as usual) to save the day as he so often does.

He wonders if it counts that he considers them _friends _and not _allies_, and that he's sure they'd give their lives for him and it's only fair that he returns the favor.

Still. The soul reapers are definitely not his allies. He's said it so often – surely _someone_ believes him?

(_How can other people believe you if you don't believe yourself, Ishida?_)

(_Shut up, Kurosaki_.)

* * *

**Dedication: Sa Rart**


	5. V

**V. Drawback**

Kisuke Urahara hadn't expected to care. He'd known, of course, that lives – both allies' and enemies' – would be lost in this encounter, but that was a fact of war – of _life_, in general – and he accepted it. He accepted that it was a possibility – a probability – that the young men and women he'd dragged into this fight (he admits that if you boil it down to the basics, all of this begins with him) might not come back alive.

It was upsetting, but necessary. Sacrifice one soul to save a thousand. It had been done before – logically, it was the best thing that could be done. But – as he and Yoruichi (God bless the woman) sped towards Ichigo Kurosaki's fluctuating reaitsu, Kisuke found himself the victim of an overwhelming sense of dread.

_Hold on, kid. I'm coming._

He won't admit this to anyone – except Yoruichi – but Kisuke hates Shinji Hirako for doing something for Ichigo that he couldn't. When he _does_ admit it to Yoruichi, she reminds him that he could've done it – if he'd become a Visored when he had the chance.

"Why didn't you, Kisuke?" It's her ambition speaking, and Kisuke tells her so.

"That's out of the question," he tells her flatly. "Maybe one day I'll tell you why."

(He still hates Shinji, though.)

* * *

**Dedication: Sa Rart**


	6. VI

**A/N:** Written for taconinjacow on tumblr. (I have a tumblr! *waves excitedly* My url is the same as my fanfiction profile's. :D) She requested 'anything Toshiro'.

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**VI: Excessively**

Some days Toshiro really hates coming to work. He hates walking up the too many stairs between reapers that stand too many inches taller than him to an office that is always too hot and always occupied by his so-called lieutenant sprawled across his desk listening to music like 'If I were a Shinigami' too loudly far too early in the morning.

It's either that, or she's drunk, and often he wonders how is it that he gets any work done at all, especially since so much of his time is split between holding Matsumoto off and his breath in (to ward off the smell of sake).

But then, there's comfort in familiarity, and there's no price too high for that.

* * *

**Dedication: taconinjacow**


	7. VII

**VII: Catching Light**

He does not live alone.

Schooldays he leaves the premises after evening activities are over – four, four thirty – and walks home with his bag slung over his shoulder and his eyes on his feet. It is not a long walk home; most days, he is in his neighborhood within ten minutes. The house is a white bungalow in desperate need of a new coat of paint, color peeling off the sided walls and the slightly rusty green gate.

It opens with a creak when he pushes it, and he passes the fading petunias and the overturned watering can and slides his key out of his pocket, unlocking the front door and letting himself in. There is a slightly musty smell to the dark hallway and the carpet is worn beneath his feet. He sets his bag down on the end table in the corridor and steps, barefooted, into the kitchen.

The spotless countertops gleam with a lack of dust and use; he slides table mats onto the little square kitchen table – two of them, with two bowls and two plates and two cups and two sets of silverware. He hunts around in the refrigerator and pulls out yesterday's leftovers, the rice slightly congealed, the teriyaki frozen over. Several minutes in the microwave oven remedy this. He sits at the table and eats quickly and efficiently and leaves the food on the table.

Later, his father will come home and find the meticulously-laid place at the table. The dishes will be done. The rice and teriyaki will be set out, steam wafting upward.

And meanwhile, he takes the staircase up to the first floor two steps at a time and feels his way down the narrow passage between the bedrooms till he comes to his own. It is a sparsely furnished room, his bedroom – only the necessities in place. Bed, wardrobe, desk, ancient computer. Homework done he leans back in his chair and looks out to where the sun is making the last of its journey. The sky is a brilliant red. His Quincy bracelet dangles off his wrist, catching light.

His ears ache with the sound of silence.

He does not live alone.

* * *

**Dedication:** **Chibi Yachiru-chan**


	8. VIII

**VIII: Sidekick**

Sometimes she takes the long way home, to avoid walking past the Kurosaki residence.

Because every time she passes the house (large, brightly lit, cheerful laughter spilling out the windows) she can't help but look up at _his_ window and remember (summer, autumn, winter, spring) days (playing football, judo practice, attending festivals, hanging out) as they've always done – or used to do.

People move on all the time. But sometimes – sometimes it hurts, to realize the _one_ person you thought would always be there for you – or you could always be there for - has someone else now, to guard their back and listen to their confidences, like you're replaceable, like you never mattered in the first place.

And they didn't even say goodbye.

* * *

**Dedication: Chibi Yachiru-chan**


	9. IX

**A/N: **RenTats. I'm just within the word-limit for this one.

* * *

**Bleach IX: Exchange**

"Hey," she says softly, "do you need a ride home?"

He looks away from the floor, where his best friend is expertly leading his other best friend (when did they get so good at the waltz?) and up at her, dangling her car keys off her finger. She is wearing a knee-length black dress – strapless, with little sequins all over the full skirt. She has shadows under her brown eyes and her dark hair has started to come out of her updo.

"Tatsuki," he says, and stops to clear his throat. "Sure. Sure, thanks." He gets to his feet and picks his suit jacket off the back of his chair and follows her out the door, casting a glance back at the dance floor.

She drives barefoot, her heels under the seat, and soundlessly, her eyes fixed on the road. He stares out the window at the streetlamps flashing by the windows, one blazing light after another. It is past midnight, and the streets are quiet.

"So," she says, after several moments, "I heard you won't be in town long." She slides the car into neutral, waiting for the traffic light.

He looks away from the window and at her reflection in the windshield. She seems to be dwarfed by her seat, the top curving over and around her.

"Yes," he says, "I'm going back to Kyoto tomorrow."

"Aren't you almost finished with your course?"

"I'll be done in six months."

The traffic light changes and she shifts gears. The engine purrs.

"Oh," she says, and lapses into silence again. There is something about the set of her mouth – it seems more stubborn than usual, and as she takes a corner, heaving a sigh, he realizes with a start she's about to cry. Her eyes are unnaturally brilliant in the glare from the streetlights.

"Hey," he says, "are you okay?"

She swallows and blinks. "What? – oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Good luck with the rest of your degree."

They are almost to his house now. "Tatsuki," he says, and she ignores him, pulling in front of the bungalow and bringing the car to a stop.

"Tatsuki," he repeats, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she insists. "This is your stop."

He doesn't move. The car shudders; across the street, a door slams, and a dog barks.

"Tatsuki," he says, suddenly, "did you love him?"

She bites her lip. "Yes." She takes a deep breath. "Did you love her?"

"I did."

"Does it ever stop hurting?" He's never heard her sound like this – a little broken, desperate.

He leans his head against the headrest. "It might. Someday." He sets a tattooed hand over hers. She smiles a little. "Okay."

"Come see me in Kyoto sometime," he says, sliding out of the car. "It helps, to forget."

She looks up at him. There is a little glimmer in her eyes; her smile widens.

"Sure. Okay."

"See you, Tatsuki." He shuts the door.

She watches him walk up the steps. "See you, Renji."

* * *

**Dedication:** **Chibi Yachiru-chan. Thanks for reading**.


End file.
